Bug Notes

I know I’ve been uncharacteristically silent the past few weeks. Things have been busy, what with Sam the Man spending two days hanging with Mama and me, a fun morning spent climbing with my pal Isaac at his pad, several trips to look at fish in the Biodome and the local pet store, and a fun-filled jungle adventure with Sam at Fundomondo — a.k.a, toddler heaven! But Heath Ledger’s death has thrown me for a loop (the nasty media frenzy around rumors of his alleged drug problem is yet another sign of our society’s moral decay), and I’ve been particularly unphotogenic recently. I am quite literally a snotty-nosed kid (along with half of Montreal’s youngest and finest citizens). Closeups need doctoring, and even distant shots need some help. But my cold seems to be waning, so expect some photos soon! (Or at least whenever Mama can manage to sneak in a few snaps when I’m not trying to grab the camera from her…)

So you know I like food. I have yet to meet a food I don’t like, in fact. Granted, some take a little warming up to, some more than others. But most foods I have taken to right away, especially anything Mama or Papa is trying to eating. I operate by the principle of Eminent Domain — if I see it and I want it, its mine. If I see it and don’t want it, I reserve the right to take ownership at a later time as I see fit. This applies to toys and personal electronics as well. Consider yourself forewarned for the next time I visit.

Here I am enjoying a dinner of bristling sardines, peas and pasta. I realize whole sardines are not typical toddler fare, but then again, I was born in the food capital of the USA. I attribute my mature palate partly to the fact that Mama’s favorite late-night snack joints in New York include Chinatown’s soup holes, with their signature disregard for English menu translations, Polish and Ukrainian borscht halls, and that Afghani place on Saint Mark’s that may or may not be called Khyber Pass, and partly to the fact that Papa, being French, eats a wide variety of strange sausages that, quite honestly, have odors that should never come out of a kitchen.

This is the third and final installment in my holiday serial. It also happens to involve the most people! I made my Yvars Family Christmas debut this year, decked out in hip vintage-print pants and a black, sleek shirt. I may be small, but I do know how to dress!

We trekked over to the Finger Lakes from the Berkshires in Grandma’s green van on Christmas Eve just in time to see Katie and Elizabeth’s musical solos (singing, fluting, and trumpeting) at their church’s family service. I dug the music so much that I entirely forgot my toddler duty to talk and squirm through the whole thing. I hear tell my cousin Alexandra didn’t follow suit… apparently she chose to announce during the silent prayer that she tooted. I truly admire her candor, as well as her impeccable sense of timing!

Most average folks might be somewhat overwhelmed by the full impact of the Yvars clan in one room, but being used to the glam life of a toddler superstar, I just took it in stride. As I see it, everyone in the room is an opportunity to flirt. And that Abby is the cat’s meow. Not only is her name fun to say over and over, but she kept talking with me even though my French-English toddlereese is basically incomprehenisble! Of course, I absolutely enjoyed everyone else too. I got lots of hugs and kisses from Katie, and I don’t just hug and kiss anyone. Alex, Christopher and Uncle Allen all made funny faces at me. Tucker let me pet him a lot. Although I kept a cautious distance, I was particularly curious about Peter — a potential cool playmate when I get bigger! Mama says he has a big barn near his house so maybe he can show me how to drive a real tractor… Even Peter’s mom, Ceci, whom I once spit up on, seems to have forgiven my previous, ungentlemanly behavior. She brought me an excellent bedtime story about clapping, jumping, and flapping. And I do love to move!

On Christmas, oddly the presents weren’t under the tree — they were on the kitchen table. And as a wispy little 21 pounder, I got to sit smack on the table to open them — how cool is that! And what did Santa Dolores and Santa Allen bring me? CARS!!! TRUCKS!!! And a Christmas BOOK!!! My three favorite things! Well, there’s also tractors, cows, Peto, cheese, broccoli, and the park. [Editor's note: Mama was quite happy Santa didn't bring a cow. One rabbit is enough livestock for a small apartment.]

In consultation with Uncle Allen, Chris, and Papa, Margo took charge and smartly figured out how to separate the vehicles from their child-proof packaging (a strange concept considering its a kids toy). After expressing my sincerest gratitude through drool and shouting, I spent the rest of my morning tucked in a corner of the room playing with my cars and trucks, which consequently accompany me in the bathtub every night now.

After that, dinner, where I got to sit next to the fabulous Miss. Abby. (Sigh.) By then it was late, and after all the family revelry, it was time to pack up the green van and head back to Massachusetts for that late Christmas in the Berkshires…

Part two of my photographic trilogy.

As mentioned earlier, Mama, Papa and I crossed the border to enjoy the southern climes of the Berkshires and the Finger Lakes for the holidays. I bided my time very seasonally, with a gingerbread cookie decorating fest, playing with dogs, climbing stairs, running with Poppy, reading with Grandma, and generally having a grand old time. Grandma taught me new curse words (“oh darn!”) and Poppy fed me all sorts of yummy fruits for breakfast. I even went to a mall the weekend before Christmas to help Mama look for a sweater (no, not the super-extra faux fur number she is sporting in the photos below — that’s a cheap Canadian purchase). Luckily it wasn’t crowded yet, but we did bump into Santa, who must have been doing some last minute shopping at Sears. Papa and he chatted a bit about visiting hours, but since I curled up into a little ball at the sight of a large, overly jolly, bearded stranger in a bright red suit, Mama and Papa wisely decided to skip the photo op.

We spent Christmas proper with the Yvars clan in Mayfield, NY, and I had a complete blast with everyone. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. This blog post is about Berkshire events only. New York will be covered next time. (Something to look forward to, dear readers!)

Christmas came late to Pittsfield, as Santa must have stopped here last, despite the recent mall sighting. But stop he did, and I scored big time with trucks, books on trucks, bottles, babies, puzzles, pots and pans! I was beside myself and had to open every single present, regardless of whom it was for! And I got to wear my favorite (and only) Christmas socks for a second day in a row! Ho ho ho!

After I slept off the wrapping paper frenzy, Mama, Papa and I headed off to North Adams for dinner with Tim and Monique, who you might remember from their summer visit to Montreal. It was great to see them, of course, but I was absolutely enthralled with Michaela, who Mama tells me was one of the top bowlers at her baby shower. She’s smart, beautiful AND she can bowl! After this trip, I think I definitely like older women…

There are so many pictures to post and so many memories to recount that I can’t possibly fit them all in one posting. So, again lucky readers, you benefit by getting three(!) separate postings about pre-, post-, and proper Christmas events.

To start the ball rolling, here’s the news, complete with visual accompaniment, from the Verdun front:

Amy and Braden, my surrogate mom and dad, got hitched in a glam-fest of a wedding in Old Montreal. I stayed home with Grandma and Poppy, who braved wintery roads to babysit little ol’ me! I had fun, but Mama and Papa had even more fun with Amy and Braden. And as you can see from the photo below, Amy was HOT, despite the cold cold snow.

A few days after the happy nuptials, while I was hanging with Sam and munching on crepes at his pad (how so very Montreal, you say to yourself), our first big storm of the winter hit (which is even more Montreal). We got about 1 1/2 feet of snow, and that was on top of what was already pretty deep snow for a little tyke like me. Cars were buried, plows were deployed, and my trusty blue boat proved its worth ten times over.

After a brief, and slightly less snowy sojourn in the States (details in a future posting), the “AmyBradenSam” family came over for New Years and I hosted my very first sleepover party! Yes, yes, yes, you remind me kindly that lovely Lou had stayed here before, but that was without all the colored lights and champagne. And a party isn’t a party without corks a’poppin! Granted, Sam and I were both in bed by 8PM, but not before baths were had and bedtime stories were told. (Sorry folks — no bath pics this time around.  They received R ratings due to brief scenes of frontal nudity, and this is a G-rated blog.) Then our parents partied it up with apple and pumpkin pies accompanied by Braden’s home-made beer.

After that, it was 2008 and it snowed again, but that, my gentle readers, is a tale to be told in some other post.